


You Were Never Lovelier

by SagittariusPrincess



Category: Fables (Willingham) - All Media Types, Fables - Willingham, Fables: The Wolf Among Us (Video Game)
Genre: Accidental Pregnancy, Alternate Universe - 1920s, Angst, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/F, F/M, Historical but not really, Hurt/Comfort, More tags to be added, Multi, Speakeasies, costume porn, smut with feelings, snow might be a furry
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-27
Updated: 2021-02-11
Packaged: 2021-03-08 21:01:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,971
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27223177
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SagittariusPrincess/pseuds/SagittariusPrincess
Summary: Bigby remembers dancing with her-dancing in a hazy club and holding her close to him. She was the memory that kept him alive throughout the war.But when he returns to New York, the world has moved on without him-everything he knows and cares for is gone. And she-the princess with the raven locks and the beautiful gaze-believes that he had abandoned her.Two lonely souls must find their way back to each other. They're all they have, clinging onto each other at a hazy club with no one else in it.
Relationships: Bluebeard/Rose Red (Fables - Willingham), Jack Horner/Rose Red (Fables - Willingham), Prince Charming/Snow White (Fables - Willingham), Snow White/Bigby Wolf
Kudos: 13





	1. Return to Me

_1922_

It's been four years. Four years since he left to Europe. ' _To fight for his country_.' Those words disgust her. They were the last thing she heard from his lips. The last sound she remembers him by-the last glimpse she has of him before watching his train leave. Before watching him fade from sight. Now her only reminders of him are a rumpled up photograph of him and two toddlers playing on the floor of the living room.

_Bastard._

"Hello?!" She hears her sister's voice from the hallway and sets the photograph down on the coffee table. "Snow?!"

"In the living room, Rose," Snow replies in a clipped voice. 

"We brought dinner!"

" _We_?"

"Hello!" A male voice calls out. 

"A new boyfriend," Snow mumbles to herself as she walks over towards her children. "Please take your shoes off before coming inside!"

" _Shit,"_ she hears Rose whisper.

"I see the ice princess hasn't thawed out yet," the man replies and Snow recognizes who he is-Jack Horner. Snow bites her lip to keep herself from returning the lovely _compliment_ and kneels down to the twins' height.

"Go get ready for supper, dears," she mutters, stroking the little girl's hair and taking the little boy's hand. They are a reminder of _him_ and she dreaded carrying them. Dreaded the implications of being an unmarried woman with children. She had attempted to keep her reputation as spotless as possible. She was already disliked enough among the community. 

But they are here now and, to her surprise, they are what keeps her grounded. She adores them. They make all the snide remarks, the insults, the constant reminders of who she is worth it. They are _her_ children.

"I want to play," the little girl-Winter-mumbles. "I'm not hungry."

"I am," Ambrose replies, grinning at Snow.

"You can go and play again after supper," Snow replies. "Your Aunt Rose has brought a...guest over-come on, now, let's get washed up."

"Okay," Winter mutters before running off-her brother follows her. 

Snow waits a moment and takes a breath before heading towards the dining room, stopping to glance at herself in the mirror-dark eyeshadow, red lipstick and jet black hair neatly tucked up to resemble a bob. She looks presentable enough.

She steps into the dining room to find Jack and Rose, hands clasped together and staring at each other as if it's the first time they've seen each other. Rose is dressed in painfully obvious fake furs and Jack looks as if he's slept in his clothing.

_Unacceptable._

"Are you going to have supper like that?" Snow asks, clasping her hands together.

"Like _what_?" Rose asks.

"You are wearing your street clothes." 

"Oh, Snow!" Rose laughs as she fishes out her cigarette box. "We're family. Spare me the formalities. And Jack's practically family."

"You only bring him here to sleep with you." 

"That's not true!" Jack cries out. "I also eat here."

"Yes-you eat _our_ food," Snow mumbles. "But I thank you for bringing supper tonight." She walks over to the kitchen. "And don't you _dare_ light that thing in here-go outside if you must smoke."

"Why are you so against me smoking?" Rose raises a brow and sets her cigarette down. "Listen, I'm sorry if it reminds you of him, but that's not my problem. Bigby's go-"

"Don't mention his name." Snow feels her throat tighten as she opens the refrigerator door and pulls out a pie. "Please, Rose."

"I'm sorry...I didn't mean to."

"Of course you didn't-you never mean anything, do you?"

"Snow, please," Jack interjects. "Can we just have a nice meal for once?"

"Yes, Jack." Snow sets the pie down and closes her eyes. "We can." She forces a smile and bites her lip. "Rose, don't mention him anymore. Especially not in front of the children."

"...They don't _know_?" 

"They're hardly three."

"They should at least know their dad's name, Snow."

"I'm sorry, I wasn't aware that you were a mother."

"Snow-"

"Stop it. You are in my house. I have been kind enough to let you and Jack stay here-you will not question my parenting practices. Understood?"

"You need a drink."

"I do." Snow laughs, surprised at her own reply. She hates to admit that her sister is correct, but she _desperately_ needs a drink.

"Sit tight. I'll go get you one." 

Snow nods and stares at takes a seat at the table, gripping tightly to the skirt of her dress with one hand. She knows better than to hold out hope for him-she knows better than to sit by her window at night and wait for him to return. Her heart has been broken before. She'll learn to survive. 

But she _wants_ him. 

"Here." Rose sets down a glass of wine in front of Snow. "Snow, I didn't mean to upset you."

"You didn't."

"But I-"

"It was just a long day at work." She smiles and takes a hurried sip of the wine. 

"A lot of complaints?"

" _Always_."

"You need to go out-you know, Jack and I go to this real nice place some-"

"I'm not going to a _speakeasy._ "

"You need to-maybe you'll find a nice guy who'll take you to his place."

" _Rose."_

"Snow-it's been four years."

"And before that, it had been several hundred." 

"...How long are you going to keep punishing me for that?"

"I'm not punishing you-I'm just reminding you."

"So I guess the nice dinner isn't happening," Jack interjected.

"Yes, it is," Snow replies, standing up. "I'm going to be in my room. Enjoy."

"Snow!" Rose cried out. "Come on!"

"I'm not hungry." Snow ignores her sister's protests and walks into her room, sitting on her bed and allowing her gaze to wander towards the window. _She's doing it again._ She's staring out the window, hoping that he'll appear-that he'll come back to her.

Even though she knows he never will.

* * *

_1922._

It's been four years. Four years since he left to Europe. Four years since he'd last seen her face-the only memory that remains of her is a crumpled photo of her that resides in his wallet-he studies that photograph often. Studies the soft smile of her lips and the dark hair so carefully pulled up-he has memorized the shade of her eyes, though they appear in sepia.

He has her memory. The sound of her humming as she prepares breakfast, the feeling of her body against his on those long, warm summer nights, the scent of her perfume that intoxicates him.

It's been four years. Four years since he's stepped foot into the apartment building-it seems foreign to him. He wonders if she still lives here. Perhaps she's moved away-moved on from him. And he knows that he only has himself to blame. 

He hasn't even written to her.

He only hopes that if he finds her, she will forgive him. That she will understand the circumstances he was put through. That she will understand that he hasn't stopped thinking about her for even a moment.

He loves her.

He takes a breath, brushes off his coat-a tattered, worn thing but still the best piece in his wardrobe-and walks towards the elevator, eyes glued to his ripped shoes. His hands cling onto a sorry looking bouquet of flowers and he closes his eyes as he presses a button.

Too late to turn back now.

The elevator stops and he slowly steps out, reminding himself to place one foot in front of the other. 

He isn't usually nervous. But it's different with her. She's intoxicating. Her mere scent makes his stomach drop and his knees grow weak-she's _here._ She's still here. 

He takes a breath and makes his way towards the door-he does not need to read the numbers-he knows that she's near. 

He stares at the door for a moment-he clings onto the bouquet and takes another breath. 

He can already imagine her face-her eyes wide with surprise and her lips parting slightly as she takes a breath. He hopes that she will allow him to wrap his arms around her. To draw her close to him. To press his lips against hers and satiate his desire.

He knocks on the door.

* * *

"Go get it," Rose mutters as she toys with her bread roll. "Come on, Jack-you _are_ the man of the house." 

"Nope," Jack replies, smirking. "You heard what your sister said."

"She's just upset because she hasn't been with anyone in years." Rose laughed. "Come on, go get the door."

"Fine-but I'm not inviting them in."

"Don't." Rose winks at him and watches him walk off before returning to her meal. 

She hears the door open.

" _Christ,"_ Jack's voice echoes and Rose raises a brow, a slight smirk forming on her lips. She gets up from the table and slowly walks over towards the front door-

Her face grows pale when she sees _him_. Holding a bouquet of wildflowers he must have picked along the way and dressed in what she can only assume is his nicest coat (though it really isn't very nice.)

"Bigby," Rose mutters, raising a brow. "It's been a long time."

"I know," Bigby mumbles. "Is Snow here?"

"Yes."

"...Can I speak to her?"

"Sure." Rose smiles before heading to Snow's bedroom. She cannot believe this. She cannot believe that a rather typical day in the middle of October would bring about a rather unexpected guest. But the winds of autumn often bring surprises.

She knocks on the door. There is no answer.

"Snow?" Rose calls out. "There's someone who wants to see you."

"I'm a bit busy at the moment!" Snow shouts.

"Snow, whatever it is that you're busy with, I can assure you that it's not as important as this." Rose hears and audible sigh. "Snow, please."

"Fine. Give me a moment." She walks out a few moments later; her cheeks are tear stained. "Whoever it is, they'd best be the most important visitor I've ever received."

"Oh, they are." 

Snow raises a dark brow and walks past Rose, pulling her shawl tighter about her and heading towards the door.

She stops when she sees _him,_ keeping her distance. No, no, no, no, _no_. What is he doing here? It has been _four_ years-he shouldn't be here. He isn't welcomed here. No matter how many times she's dreamt of this moment-of seeing him at the door, holding roses in his hand-the reality is far different.

She feels dread, nausea, and the inevitable feeling of pain that comes along with seeing a ghost.

But he isn't a ghost.

He is flesh and blood and is standing before her-just as he has in her dreams. He is there. Isn't this what she wanted? Isn't this what she's been dreaming of for four years? That he would return and wrap his arms around her and hold her until all her troubles melt away?

Reality is far different than fantasies that she has kept tucked away in her mind.

"Snow," she hears him call her name and, without second thought, she allows herself to approach him-to approach him until they are mere centimeters apart. Until she can feel his breath against hers. "It's been so long."

She does not reply with a phrase of disbelief or a passionate embrace.

No.

She slaps him.


	2. Can't Give You Anything

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jack Horner??

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi, I'm so sorry this took forever to update. School and work are testing my patience and time and they wouldn't let me write my wolf husband fanfiction. Please enjoy and thank you for the feedback <3

He can still feel the sting of her palm against his cheek.

His eyes meet hers. They are sapphires engulfed in angry flames and her ruby lips are twisted into a grimace. 

Well, this is certainly not the homecoming that he's expected. 

He is at a loss for words. He knows that one wrong move and she will have him out of the house in a matter of approximately one half of a second. And so he resigns himself to silence. He will let her make the first move.

She does not speak. 

His eyes glance to her sister, who stares at him with wide eyes-she is also waiting for her to speak.

"It's been four years," she finally begins, her hands shaking and her voice breaking every few moments. "It's been four years, Bigby." She takes a breath. "And you didn't even write to me once."

" _Write_?"

"You never got any of those letters I sent you?" She laughs and shakes her head. "You didn't receive the photograph of your children?"

His face grows white and he feels his jaw slacken. His _what_? He has half a mind to laugh-he must be in some sort of dream. In just a few moments, he would wake in a cold sweat in his closet sized apartment in Paris. She would not be there. He would be alone.

"Answer the question," she inches closer to him, staring up at him-he is not a tall man but she most certainly is not a tall woman. But as ridiculous as she looks, staring up at him, he still fears her.

He always has.

Perhaps that is why he loves her.

"Snow, I never got anything you sent me."

" _Nothing?!"_ He can hear her voice break and tears begin to roll down her rosy cheeks. "I wrote to you every day for a year and a half and you got _nothing_? Or did you just conveniently forget that you had someone at home? Who were you with?'

"Nobody-now what's this about children?"

"I had twins- _your_ twins."

Bigby watches her as she begins to cry, her body shaking with each breath she takes. He wants nothing more than to wipe the tears away from her face. To wrap his arms around her and bury his head into her hair.

"They are my greatest shame," she mutters. "And my greatest joy. There is nothing more humiliating than walking down the streets with them and being gawked at by...people who think you're a whore. But they're all I have...all I have left of you."

"I'm here now."

"You are." They stare at each other for a moment and he takes her hand in his. He wants to apologize. He's abandoned her for four years and he knows that there is no excuse for what he's put her through-but he cannot apologize. He knows that no words would even begin to undo the damage he's done. So he just holds her hand and brings it to his lips. "Do you want to meet them?

"The kids?" He raises a brow and manages a small, lopsided smile.

"Yes, the kids." She smiles through her tears. 

"Why don't you stay for dinner?" Rose interjects. "Jack brought... _something."_

"I did," Jack mutters, flashing a smile at him.

Bigby smiles in return-if one had asked him four years ago if he would ever be glad to see Jack Horner, he would have laughed. But he is glad. Glad to be home. Glad to see a familiar face. Glad to be with _her._

"Stay for dinner," Snow begins, taking a breath.

"I think I will."

* * *

She is nervous. She can feel her hands tremble as she pours the wine into the glasses. As she lights the candles. As she approaches the children's room. How will she tell them that their father, that they have never met, is sitting at the dinner table, waiting for them? 

"Ambrose? Winter?" She calls out, knocking on the door before walking in. Ambrose is engrossed in a book and Winter is doodling on the floor-they look up at her with wide eyes. She takes a breath. "There's someone I'd like you to meet."

"Santa Claus?!" Ambrose cries out, dropping his book. Snow cannot help but laugh and she shakes her head.

"No, not Santa Claus. He's...a friend." _Stupid, stupid, stupid. Why couldn't she just tell them he was their father?_

"Is dinner ready?" Winter asks, oblivious to her brother's question.

"Yes...come now, let's go eat." She bites her lip and struggles to hold back a sigh-she knows that they will have a multitude of questions when they see him. When they see their _father._ She knows that she cannot keep it a secret forever.

She slowly begins to walk down the hallway, reminding herself to place one foot in front of the other. She can hear Jack's laughter float through the hall and she takes a breath. He's about to see his children for the first time-

She remembers the first time she saw her children-two tiny, red faced children shrieking at the top of their lungs. And it was at that moment, in the midst of their shrieking and her pain, that she fell in love with them.

The children she had feared carrying-the children that she knew would wreck the reputation she had so carefully crafted for decades.

She wonders if he'll fall in love with them two-with her two precious children that she has raised on her own. 

She takes a breath and steps into the dining room, her eyes focused on Bigby-his dark gaze meets her. She says nothing as she watches his gaze drift down to the little ones who stand on either side of her.

She watches as his jaw clenches ever so slightly-he wants to say something. Perhaps he wants to simply run towards them and take them in his arms. But he does not. He simply allows his lips to curl into a half smile.

"Are you Mommy's friend?" Ambrose asks. 

She turns away from Bigby-she can feel his gaze on her. 

"Yeah," Bigby begins. "And I've gotta talk to your Mommy real quick." 

Snow draws in a sharp breath and turns to face Bigby once again. 

"Let's step out for a moment," Snow finally manages, heading towards the front door. She does not need to look back to know that Bigby is following her. 

She steps into the hallway outside of her apartment and closes the door behind her and Bigby. 

He says nothing for a moment; he is hurt. His lips are twisted into a sort of grimace and his gaze shifts from side to side, refusing to meet her eyes.

She's made a terrible mistake and she knows it. 

"I'm sorry," she finally mutters, glancing down at her shoes.

"Why didn't you tell them?" He mutters.

"I didn't know how to."

"You couldn't have just told them 'Your dad's here to visit?'"

Her eyes grow wide and she shakes her head, surprised that he'd even suggest that. Why is he so nonchalant over the entire situation? 

"You weren't the one who gave birth to them," she finally begins, her voice shaky. "You weren't the one who had to raise them on your own for _years_ -had to suffer the stares and insults of others. You weren't the one who nursed them back to health when they were sick and you certainly weren't the one working himself in order to provide _everything_ for them."

"Snow, I-"

"No, listen to me! When you've been through everything that I've been through, you can tell me what to do. Until then, I suggest you keep your mouth shut and be grateful that I'm even letting you see them."

She stares at him, jaw tightened and fists clenched. 

"This is my home and you are a guest. Is that understood?"

"Understood."

"Then let's go back in and have dinner." She reaches for the doorknob and stops, turning to face Bigby once more. "One more thing."

"Yes?" He raises a brow.

"No smoking while you're in here-no exceptions."

* * *

He is enraptured by them-two little children showing him their crudely made paintings that are nothing more than glorified scribbles. But to him, they are masterpieces that belong at the Louvre. 

They are his childrens' works, crafted with cheap colored pencils and newspaper scraps that he can only assume Snow leaves out on the coffee table. 

"This one's my favorite!" Ambrose cries out, holding a piece of paper with an almost identical scribble as all the other ones. "Do you like it, Mr. Mommy's Friend?"

"I do," Bigby replies, managing a half smile before turning towards the couch. Winter has fallen asleep, thumb in her mouth. "She usually fall asleep this early?"

"Sometimes," Ambrose replies, smiling. 

Bigby nods and bites his lip, wishing nothin more than to pick the little girl up and tuck her into bed. Like a father should.

Her words weigh on him. He cannot even begin to comprehend what she must have gone through-being a woman in her position and a single mother cannot be easy. He knows how vile the others are towards her. How they find every chance they get to scrutinize her.

He cannot forgive himself for his absence. He must simply make it up to her.

He hears footsteps approach and turns around-it is Snow. Her hair is loose, falling slightly past her shoulders, and she wears a simple nightgown-the one she's worn for years. She slowly walks over to the couch.

"Alright you two," she begins, picking her daughter up. "It's off to bed."

"But I wasn't finished showing your friend my pictures, Mommy!" Ambrose cries out. 

"You can show the rest to him when he comes to visit again."

"Okay!" Ambrose turns towards Bigby. "Goodnight, Mr. Mommy's Friend!"

"G'night," Bigby mumbles as he watches Snow lead his children away. 

She returns a moment later, turns the radio on, and sits down, taking a deep breath.

"They're good kids," Bigby begins, glancing at Snow. "You've raised them well."

"I have," is her curt reply.

"Snow, I-"

"What's done is done."

"When I tell you I didn't get _anything_ you sent me, I meant it."

"I believe you."

"But you're still upset."

"...Of course I am." She finally turns to face him and shakes her head slowly. "You can't fault me for that, can you?"

"No, of course not, I just-" He stops himself. He's never been good at comforting others. At assuaging any fears or troubles. He's never really cared to learn, either. Not until now. 

Now he wishes he had learned some sort of tact along the way. 

"Snow, I'm sorry."

She nods and the room grows quiet.

A song plays. 

_Their_ song.

Snow's eyes grow wide and distant as the song continues to play.

"We danced to this," she whispers, a gentle smile forming on rosy lips. "I'm positive it was the first dance you'd ever danced-you stepped on my toes."

"I did," he mutters, a dry chuckle escaping his throat. "And you didn't even complain."

"...I didn't care to-why can't we go back to that?"

"There's nothing stopping us." A faint smile forms on his lips as he places a hand on hers. 

She smiles softly as she gets up and wraps her arms around his shoulders.

He gingerly places his arms around her waist and they sway side to side, not even remotely keeping time with the music.

But it doesn't matter. It never has. 

He studies her face-soft and vulnerable in the dim light of her apartment. 

The children are asleep, her sister is gone, and they are alone, dancing in the living room.

The portrait of a perfect family-but he knows that sentiment could not be further from the truth.

But for now, the illusion seems real.

And that is enough.

He leans down and presses his lips against hers.

He does not let go.


	3. Intoxicated By You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jack Horner is an absolute icon. In the worst way possible.

"Oh, you poor thing," she whispers, dabbing a towel against his nose. "You know I don't like you doing this."

"I have to make money somehow," Jack replies, his eyes meeting Rose's pale ones. "Your sister never gets off my case-pay this, pay _that_."

"You know how she is." Rose manages a gentle smile and runs her fingers through his long hair. "Are you scared she's going to kick us out? Now that... _he's_ back?"

"She's not going to kick us out...." He stops for a moment and takes a breath. "Not with the money I won tonight." 

Rose sighs as she continues to dab the towel against his broken, bloody nose. It'll heal-it's not the first time he's gotten a thorough thrashing.

"Why don't we go get a drink or something?" he mutters, wincing as he feels her apply pressure on his wound. 

"You need rest."

"You turning down a party?"

"...You worry me sometimes." Her voice grows quiet. "I saw the way you fought tonight...you could have gotten your teeth knocked out-you almost lost the match."

"But I _won_."

" _Barely_." He places a finger under her chin and brings her face towards the dim street light. She's beautiful-there's no doubt about that. The way her hair falls past her eyes and the slight pout of her cupid bow lips are enough to drive any man mad-and he knows she does. He knows that he's not the first she's loved.

And he knows that he won't be the last.

"What are you thinking about?" She whispers, inching her lips dangerously close to his.

"How that bastard kept staring at you while I was fighting."

"Which bastard? There's so many of them who had their eyes on me." She smirks as she presses her lips against his. His fingers find their way between her hair-damn her. Damn her for being so terribly irresistible. She is a siren and he is a sailor-she is luring him to a brutal death but he could not care less. It is all worth it.

"Bluebeard," he mumbles against her lips. "He's had his eye on you for so long."

"I think that has to do with my sister more than me."

"I don't think he likes your sister at all."

"Oh, he _hates_ her...and he knows we've had our fair share of fights...but I'm one step ahead of him, darling. I always am." 

"Mhm...."

"What?"

"Nothing," Jack replies, raising a brow. "I just wonder if you've got your eye on him, too."

"I've got an eye on his money...."

"Money?" 

"If we got ahold of his money, you wouldn't have to fight anymore. We could move out of my sister's apartment-we could own the nicest house in New York. The possibilities are _endless_."

"And how do you plan on getting his money? I'm sure he's not going to give it to you just because you're beautiful."

"You figure it out-you're the trickster, aren't you?" She smiles up at him and, without much thought, he presses his lips against hers. 

"Let's get outta here," he whispers against her lips, his hands clinging onto the thin fabric of her dress.

"Sounds like a plan."

* * *

She can still feel his lips against her own-his hand wrapped around her waist and his breath against her neck. Manicured fingers lightly trail against her arched neck as she stares at her flushed reflection.

She wonders. Wonders how different everything _could_ have been if she had married him. If he had raised the twins with her. If she had allowed herself to fall in love once again-

But she _is_ in love. The world seems rose colored to her and even the most mundane of tasks, such as sticking a bobby pin into her hair, seems to be the most wonderful action. She is in love and she wishes she wasn't.

She knows that an apology and a poorly executed dance cannot make up for four years of silence. Of uncertainty that she was forced to face on her own. Of sneers and insults that she has been forced to ignore. She cannot forget the gazes of coworkers-the quiet voices of her neighbors as they passed by her. The names inflicted upon her. No, nothing can make up for that-

But he didn't _know_. He swears that not one of the hundreds upon hundreds of letters that she had painstakingly written had been received. She knows that he does not lie. She believes him-

but it still hurts.

She sighs as the rose colored tint begins to fade away and stares at herself in the mirror. Her face has gone white and the soft smile she wore just a moment ago has been replaced with a pout. 

That's the problem with love. Once it fades, everything seems to be gone.

She takes a shaky breath as her eyes glance over to the clock. She has to get to work soon and her sister _still_ isn't home.

She doesn't want to take her children to the office-it is humiliating for them and they are too young to understand why everyone glares at them and watches them with disgust. It is not their faults. It never has been.

The door opens and Snow allows herself an audible sigh of relief as she hears Rose and Jack stumble inside. Perhaps they are not the best babysitters, but at least the children aren't left alone.

"Good morning," Snow calls out from her bedroom before stepping into the living room. Jack's nose and eyes are swollen and crusted with blood and Rose's stockings are falling down her leg. "Rough night, I see."

"We got money," Jack replies, flashing a toothy grin. 

"He almost got his skull cracked open," Rose replies, frowning as she falls onto the couch. "I keep telling him that boxing isn't safe."

"But it pays the bills."

"You should go see a doctor," Snow mutters, heading towards the kitchen. "I have to leave soon but you're more than welcome to call Swineheart up for a house call."

"No need," Jack replies, heading to the icebox. "It's not the first time this has happened."

"I assumed so."

"Where's your _boyfriend_?" Rose asks, a smirk forming on her lips.

"He left," Snow replies, sighing as she passes Jack an ice cube. "And he's not my boyfriend."

"Sorry, my bad-he's the father of your children and _that's it_."

"That's it."

"Did you sleep with him?"

" _What_?"

"Don't act like that-did you sleep with him?"

" _No_. Absolutely not."

"Hmph." Rose stares at her for a moment. "What do you have to lose?"

"That's not funny, Rose."

Rose rolls her eyes and rests her head against a pillow, staring at the ceiling.

"I have to get going," Snow mumbles as she walks towards the coat rack, grabbing her coat and her purse. "Please don't let the children get into any trouble."

"We won't," Jack replies, flashing her a smile. 

"The last time you said that, you tried teaching them how to gamble."

"He won't this time-he's going _straight_ to bed," Rose replies.

"Rosie, I'm fine."

"Bed."

"Not unless you come with me."

"Okay." Rose jumps off of the couch and runs towards Jack, wrapping her arms around him. 

Snow manages a half smile; it's time to go.

"Try not to burn the house down while I'm gone," Snow begins as she heads towards the door.

"No promises!" Rose shouts as Jack leads her towards the bedroom.

Snow smiles and shakes her head as she walks out the door, knowing that the outside world won't be nearly as friendly as her sister.

* * *

She sits at her desk, filing through paperwork and scanning through the small, almost unreadable print-perhaps she needs glasses. Or perhaps she needs a break. Of course, with Crane there are no breaks. Just unwanted gazes and touches that are far too uncomfortable.

She sets the paper into a folder and picks up another one, her pen in one hand. 

She can do so much more than this-so much more than act like some glorified kitchen girl, fetching Crane coffee and separating papers into alphabetical orders-hell, she knows she could do a better job than him.

But she's always been underestimated-called irate, irrational, and the favorite insult of so many fables, an icy bitch. A woman's place is not in power, they whisper. 

Little do they know that it was she who was behind many of her ex husband's decisions-it has always been that way. Her doing all of the work and never getting any of the credit-only insults and angry stares.

She wonders if Bigby will return to the office-he's been gone for so long. There is a part of her that hopes that he will. That he'll walk right through those doors and set things in order once more.

But she cannot imagine what will be said about them. 

She wonders if anyone even knows that he has returned.

"Miss White." 

She looks up-Bluebeard stands in front of her desk, his arms folded, and a dark brow raised in slight disgust. 

Well, his was certainly a face she did not want to see-especially not today.

"May I help you?" she asks, her words cordial but her tone terse and clipped. 

"I want the financial statements, Miss White."

"They won't be ready until tomorrow."

He places a hand on her desk and leans down, his eyes meeting hers. 

"I want them _now_."

"I don't have them quite ready yet."

"And why not?"

"...I've been backed up on work."

"Typical of you."

She stops for a moment and sets down the paper in her hand, slowly standing up.

"With all due respect, _sir_ ," she begins, her voice tight, "I'm working late hours and I am exhausted-forgive me if getting the financial statements that will have little to no bearing on your wealth _isn't_ my first priority."

"Watch your tone with me, Miss White-don't forget that, without my generous contributions, you'd be left in the dirt in more ways than you already are."

She grows still-and she hates that he's correct. She has been left in the dirt-by the father of her children. And no silly little dance or apology is going to take that away. She cannot come up with some witty retort or insult. 

She cannot say anything at all.

"I strongly suggest that you learn some respect, Miss White-if I had wanted to, I could have taken this position from you-your actions, after all, were extremely indecent."

"...Indecent is what you did to your wives."

She watches his face grow red and he begins to stammer-and she smiles. 

"We have moved past what we once were," he finally mutters. "I shall be kind to you and give you an extension until tomorrow."

"Thank you," she begins through gritted teeth. "I appreciate your charity."

"You should." He says nothing else as he storms out of the door, leaving her alone once more.

And for a moment, she allows herself to relax. 

Her eyes glance over to a small photograph on her desk-her with the twins. They must be about two in the photographs-smiling along with their mother. She has them, if no one else. 

And if she were made to do it all over again, she would-she doesn't regret them. She never wi-

"Miss White," it is Crane's voice that comes from the door and she turns to face him as he walks out of the shadows-a thin frame and a devious face that reminds her that she is nothing more than an object to him. 

"Yes?" she begins, averting her gaze. "I've got the paperwork filled out and I-"

"We need to have a conversation."

"Yes?" She looks up at him and raises a brow.

"I heard that Mr. Wolf was in town."

"He is."

"So you saw him?"

"He wanted to meet his children-I wasn't going to deny him."

"Shame-you've got wonderful options who would be more than willing to marry you and raise the children but you crawl back to the same man who left you." He approaches her and she scoots back in her chair, her gaze resting on a paperweight. "Miss White, you know I care for you."

"Mhm." Her hand slowly approaches the paperweight as she feels his hand on her shoulder. "Sir-"

"There's no need to be so formal with me, Snow." 

She can feel his breath against her neck and she feels her hand on the weight.

"Oh, I believe there is," she replies before hitting his head with the weight. He falls to the floor and the door opens-

Her eyes meet Bigby's.

And she smiles.

He really is back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I would kill Crane fifty times over if I could. Hope you enjoyed and will hopefully see you in the next chapter!

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you enjoyed the first chapter. Stay tuned for more dysfunctional messes.


End file.
